Antelope Valley


Antelope Valley

Time is drawing nigh

Photo by Pamela Heckel on Unsplash

Neither acrid nor redolent go the desert winds. Entering naked — scorched — with flames of past and cruel memories in hand — trickling into the dust as blistered skin-pops, soiling and feeding the desolation.

A stranger in his own life — no heading but universal guidance at the helm — pangs of surreal humor watching the Mrs hand out the remaining scrubs no longer needed. Bursts into flames of laughter — bellowing the canyon floor — spotting a stranger donning his favorite top. Then another. And another.

Letting go of his past — like the multitudes of colored scrub tops — pondering if burdens now walk with the strangers in his bloodstained smocks.

Deep breath.

Divine dichotomies and universal laws play out in his world. Like a butterfly here — crashing into the winds of dragon fire — toppled yet another continent.

Layer by layer — peeled like an orange waiting for mulling — offering the perfect blend of intensities and flavor. His identity — the very essence — stripped like the scrubs at his partner’s hand — merging with the ethos of the cosmos.

Fortnight, hence another seven, soon will end — Antelope Valley’s gift of introspective glance — immense gratitude for this closing chapter book of traveling amidst foreign land. Once filled with pronghorns and galloping impala — desolate as the baron thought — packed with empty houses and scars from the ancestral fold.

Reduced to ashes filled in laden song — white stage — charred to the fiery red and blackened to the soul’s edge of transformation. Stories end — a new book titled as he returns to where it all began.

Deep breath.

A new story was written. Smiles — ear-to-ear — sipping on future’s elixir.

~Ani Po


Thank you Blue Insights, editing staff Thomas Plummer, Francine Fallara, Victoria Ponte, Gurpreet Dhariwal, David Rudder, Pablo Pereyra, and all who come to support this space.

Much gratitude for those who take time to read, ponder, and allow the inner workings of self to come forward. Grateful for the feedback, love shared, and, more importantly, the Dance with Inspiration. Deep Peace.

Joseph Lieungh

Photo by Javardh on Unsplash

Teacup, Saucer, Out


Teacup, Saucer, Out

Cracked are the fingertips of our soul

Image generated on Meta.AI by author with the prompt “teacup in the mountains”

With the promise of winter’s cracked fingertips — broken spells of hope — we look to the salve nourishing our soul. Like the art of filling cracks — beast mode tossing another teacup to oblivion — kintsugi prevails with a warm sip of elderberry, turmeric and ginger.

No longer chasing tail — plucking stars from the sky — hoping for something greater.

No longer dreaming of a false reality, begging the winds to spread more cheer.

Sitting in the desert for 40 days — 40 nights — contemplating. All existence. I’ve come to one final conclusion — It All Is.

Turning back the clocks of time — resetting circadian rhythms — hoping to gain more light in darkened times. Falling short of longer days — entering silenced thought. Embrace the shadows drowning tune.

It is time.

Reset the clocks — chapter books — turning pages — spinning our cup with more emphasis on the varied colors etched into the kiln-dried flesh of broken will. We are.

It is time.

~Ani Po


Well, this was not exactly where I thought I was going, but not a bad place to end up — daydreaming on the mountaintops. Thank you Paroma Sen, for the original prompt of daydreaming on the train. Sorry for not staying focused, drifting immediately into the mountains.


Much gratitude for those who take time to read, ponder, and allow the inner workings of self to come forward. Grateful for the feedback, love shared, and, more importantly, the Dance with Inspiration. Deep Peace.

Joseph Lieungh

Photo by Javardh on Unsplash